


the infinite possibilities of us

by nochanchu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochanchu/pseuds/nochanchu
Summary: a collection of stories that are based around thislovely prompt list, each of them range in a variety of tropes and universes; some may be continuations of previous pieces or one-shots. the crux of their subject matter deal with relationship dynamics between Peter Parker and Y/N.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader, Tom Holland (Actor)/Peter Parker/Reader
Kudos: 6





	1. stay

**Author's Note:**

> prompt one: “If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.”
> 
> crossposted on my tumblr, [spiderdaze](http://spiderdaze.tumblr.com).

There’s a knock at the door. 

You pay little mind to it; instead turning over in your bed, you can already hear your flatmate, Lydia make her way over and speak to the visitor. Although their conversation is hardly audible, if you had to guess, it was probably the Thai take-out that Lydia had mentioned an hour or two ago. You aren’t all that hungry, however, just tired. 

The last couple of days have been particularly hard, its cause is unclear whether it is due to the failed SHIELD mission or if it’s your body finally succumbing to fatigue. A possible result of overwork. Perhaps a result of PTSD. Maybe even both. Probably both. 

The Academy’s physician had been aching to give you a reason to take it easy. While you were prone to coming in here and there for a bloody nose or out-of-place shoulder, you were also the kind of person to just walk off the injury immediately after. It’s second nature to Operations to sweat the small stuff. If you weren’t rendered unconscious, you could keep going, and you had better or it was your ass and your team members’ on the line. 

But one of the perks of having someone above you in rank as a roommate meant someone would finally hold you accountable over taking a break. Per the physician’s suggestion, Lydia wrote you off for the next couple of training sessions so you wouldn’t protest further. 

Since that day, which would have been Tuesday, you occupied your bed and remained there until now. You remember Peter stopping by the same day, immediately after school, after hearing about your strenuous training with Wanda. Her illusions had forced you to grapple with multiple scenarios that should have been easy to withstand due to your mental resistance training, and it worked through the first half. 

These scenarios included what you would do in the event that someone on your team is out of commission, whether that is unconscious or captive, what do you do? You navigated through that with ease. You account for their detriment, accommodate as best as you can, and you carry on with the objective of your mission. Another included what would you do if you were taken captive, which ramped up the stakes a little, forced you to turn your mental shields on, and encouraged you to keep your mouth shut at all costs.

You probably should’ve stopped while you were ahead. Wanda suggested stopping there when she noticed how much of a sweat you had worked up. It’s nothing with your strength, which you were plenty, but this mental strain asked a lot of you. Probably even more when the next phase asked what would you do in the event that someone you care about is put in danger? What would you do if they died? What then? 

You saw Peter then. Unmasked, concerned, and suddenly, just as quickly as he appeared in the scenario, he disintegrated before your eyes. Becoming ash. This was a scenario without a solution. Irreversible. What then? 

You almost passed out. You maybe even did. All you know is the ordeal had made it hard to look at him then. 

You told him you were fine, just tired, and left it at that. He seemed a little suspicious, wanting to push, but not breaching that boundary of trust you both had established as friends. It wasn’t like you could express why it hurt you so badly. He was dejected, and it made you want to ask him to stay, to make clear what it was that was really eating at you. 

When he asked if you were sure and you nodded, you wanted to yell at yourself for letting the moment slip away. Maybe it wasn’t the most opportune time to express your feelings, but who knows what could happen next? 

You shake your head then. You even pull the comforter over your head, because you don’t want to consider that what-if. You don’t want anything to happen to Peter. 

You hear your door make a slow creak, groaning as Lydia pads her way in. 

“Lyd, I’m not hungry.” 

Instead of her voice, you hear Peter’s say, “She tells me you haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.” 

You don’t know if Lydia’s fucking with you with her illusonary powers, though you know her not to be the type to mess with you in this state, you’re almost in disbelief that he would be here. Almost. 

Slowly, you take a peek at the doorway. It’s him. Undeniably so with a black T-shirt with the periodic table on it and some dark denim jeans. 

“Hi,” he says.

You wave. 

“You’re still in the same spot I left you,” he notes. His tone sounds a little uneasy. Not angry, but concerned. 

You shrug, “it’s a comfy bed.” 

“What’s wrong?” He has a small frown. 

You don’t respond right away, instead lifting a corner of your comforter as an invitation. Peter makes his way toward you and accepts, laying on his side to face you. You follow suit. 

“You can talk to me, you know,” he says. Gentler, this time. “Lydia called me over. She and I… we’re concerned.”

“You’ve been blowing up her phone, haven’t you?” 

He looks a little sheepish and nods. “Only because you haven’t been responding to my texts.”

There’s a brief silence. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I know I haven’t been fair to you guys.” 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he says, almost immediately. You dislike how he looks a little guilty. You don’t want him to feel bad for that. 

You shake your head and say, “But I should, and I will. You deserve to know. I want you to.” 

He doesn’t say anything then. Only nods to encourage you after he’s been able to parse that you mean it and you aren’t just saying that to make him feel better. For as long as you can remember, Peter’s been like that—selfless and accommodating to your feelings and boundaries, only pushing a little if he feels like he should, and it’s one of those moments where you’ve experienced enough space from the event to finally talk about it. 

“I was training with Wanda. Some mental resistance exercise. We were running through scenarios, just what-if situations on the chance that a team member of mine is compromised, you do what you can to help them and get the mission done. When I was taken hostage and the illusions wanted information about one of the Infinity Stones, I held my own and got through it. Hard. Still dealable. I should’ve stopped there.” You decide to shift your focus from his eyes to the gentle wave of his brown hair. “Wanda said so too. But I must’ve been running on adrenaline because I said to keep going. Maybe she parsed this from my head or maybe it’s something that cropped up from her mind, but it was like the Blip all over again… when everyone disappeared. When… you… disappeared.” 

You give a shaky albeit nervous laugh. 

And you almost forget what your hands are doing—shaking no doubt—until you feel Peter take your hands in his. 

“Hey, you can stop here,” he says, giving you a small smile. It makes your heart flutter a little. “There’s no rush.” 

“Peter, when you disappeared the first time, I knew you were still out there. I felt it,” you admit, for the very first time. You never thought you would, but it feels like you’re running on adrenaline again. The words didn’t want to stop rolling. “This scenario… it was different. It was cold. Dark. Irreversible.”

Looking at your and his clasp hands, you feel relief as he gives them a squeeze. The way his thumb rubs circles on your right hand is nice. “I’m here,” he says aloud. “You know… If you had asked me to stay, I would’ve.” 

“I wanted you to be there,” you squeeze back. “It just felt too fresh. But I guess it would’ve given me some peace of mind knowing you were nearby too. The selfish part of me wanted you to stay so bad. But the other part, the rational part, didn’t—doesn’t—think I should want it.”

“Why?” His genuine confusion causes you to look at him, surprised a little. “Is that bad?”

You pause then. In an attempt to take this whole situation in. Not quite sure what to make of it all exactly. You didn’t expect Peter to respond like this. 

“I care about you,” he blurts out. “Sorry, go ahead.”

You smile a little. Your heart does a little flutter too. 

“I-it’s not bad, Peter. I wanted you to stay because I care about you. A lot. It scared me to watch you die, to feel you truly disappear. But another part of me, maybe the cowardly part, also doesn’t know how to articulate these feelings I have for you. Asking you to stay… would’ve been a whole other can of worms.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.” 

You tell him it’s alright, though the look on his face tells you otherwise. 

He says after a moment, “If it’s any consolation, I like you too.”

“What?”

He nods. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to figure out a way of telling you for a couple weeks now.”

You concede, “Me too.”

It hit you both then. What this all means. What previous interactions might have meant; as in your shared moments together that always felt like something, even if neither of you decided to take a step forward into something more. It sometimes feels like it happened all too well. 

You and your helping in his transition back into day-to-day life after his disappearance; how easily you integrated into his life when he became Spider-Man; how strongly you felt in doing this when you normally wouldn’t, all because he had something about him that told you it would be worth it; and most of all, he was so willing to confide in you the deep inklings of doubts and uncertainties because you understood what loss meant just as well as he did. 

Soon the two of you let out a deep breath, as if a weight had been lifted off each of your shoulders. It earns a simultaneous laugh. And rather than holding onto his hand, you opt to scoot closer until you’re half-giving him a hug and half-laying on him. Maybe it should’ve felt weird to do this, given everything. It didn’t though. 

It felt normal for you two. 

“You should really eat,” he says, after a while. 

Neither of you are concealed by the comforter anymore. His arm around your waist, and better, yet the incandescent light of your bedside lamp highlights his pink cheeks. You can tell he enjoys this as much as you do. 

“In a bit.” You say after, “Let’s stay like this.”

He looks over at you, probably seeing how content you are, doesn’t protest. “Fine, but later. Okay?” 

You exhale, hoping it sounds like an affirmation. 

He says something that sounds like,  _ good _ , but you barely hear it. Just his heartbeat. 

“You’ll stay tonight?” you ask, shifting your head to look at him. 

Peter smiles and nods. “Of course.”


	2. bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt two: “You’re too good for this world.” 
> 
> crossposted on my tumblr, [spiderdaze](http://spiderdaze.tumblr.com).

Sometimes you just look at Peter. 

You try keeping your gaze on the tip of the crescent moon and the way that faint wisps for clouds kiss it briefly. As they pass, you look back over to him, at least attempting to keep a neutral expression. 

He doesn’t notice, at first. Thank goodness for that, you think, as he leans against the forest green, almost black, railing. You can’t help but look. His face is devoid of frustration from a failed mission or determination for a chemistry midterm; quite honestly, he masters neutral better than you. If not that, then bliss. 

The idea of this being a moment of bliss almost chokes you, a slight fumble of words settles in your throat, which you simply bypass with a small cough. 

Peter immediately looks at you. A blink of his eyes registers the situation, at least in his way, and he asks, “Are you alright? Cold? Oh! Are you getting sick?” 

You shake your head, almost fervently. Your cheeks burn. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m alright,” you tell him, feeling an inkling of warmth spread across your chest. “I promise.” 

That satiates him. No longer a furrow to his eyebrows, he smiles. “Just tell me when you’re ready to go, okay? Don’t let me keep you here all night.”

You almost laugh. “I’m fine,” you say, this time smiling back at him. 

“I’m being a worrywart, huh?” This he asks after you’ve both turned your attention to the city streets below. 

It’s quiet, for once. At least as quiet as it could ever be for New York. Where instead of superpowered bad guys, there are simply partygoers making their drunken treks back home or to other parties. They are all content to stumble, giggling loudly into the night air; while window lights have gone muffled by blackout curtains, some still visible through sheers, and others completely darkened, taking their pauses from the world. 

“Everything seems fine,” you note, and you consider mentioning a giddy girl stumbling in her bubblegum pink attire, until her date, a lovely little chick in all black helps her. The girl in black gives the girl in pink a small caress and a loving smile, and the observation dies off in your throat. 

Somehow you feel giddy yourself. A part of you is convinced it’s the freedom in not having to defend the city for once. Another part of you, the all-knowing (and most annoying) part is well-aware that this is because of Peter. 

It’s one of those rare evenings where it isn’t a cardinal sin to just stand here, atop an apartment building, at the ungodly hour of 2 A.M., together. Where you can relish in the ever-polluted air—everyone swears it’s gotten slightly better in recent years—and watch the world without wondering what the next move is, whether that be another phase for a mission or where to go after the school day is over at 2:45 P.M.. The world is slightly different now. 

You make out the slight prominence of his cheekbones in the half-moonlight, half-janky rooftop light, how the corners of his lips turn upward now as he’s about to speak. His voice is soft, tinged slightly with fatigue. 

“No, silly,” he pauses, just to look over at you, “I meant about you.”

His umber-colored eyes meet yours, softening just as much as your heart pounds. You can’t say you don’t like the sound of that, or the nervous laugh he makes while he runs a hand through his brunet waves. 

“C’mere,” you say, extending an arm and wrapping it around his waist. Your head gravitates towards his chest. Its sturdiness is somehow both soothing and driving you insane. “I like spending time with you, you know. It’s worth the cold.” 

You’re both quiet then. The gravity of this moment sinks in as you give him a complete hug, both arms now around his waist; his warmth enveloping you in immediate return. 

You can clearly make out the upward curves on the corner of his lips. 

“You’re too good for this world,” you blurt out, one of your many thoughts born from the silence, unhelmed by self-control. That having been stowed away to the backburner hours ago. 

He laughs, though it’s still rather faint, before he presses his lips to the top of your head. And, it isn’t long until he says, “I like this a whole lot too.” 

This must be bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know your thoughts/feedback!


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